


Eye of the Storm

by an_ardent_rain



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/an_ardent_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[established relationship, before the end of Act II] For now, there is a reprieve.  They can pretend they are happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Is it just me or does Anders’ creepish romance novel dialog actual work for him? XD It makes the whole situation that much more heart-wrenching, especially when you imagine him losing himself more and more, going further and further down that spiral.

“Promise me something,” Anders says. His voice is quiet but firm, full of purpose. Everything he says these days seems to be full of purpose; he is becoming more and more single-minded.

“Of course,” Hawke says. His arm winds its way up around the plump pillows and his hand clamps down on Anders’, warm and reassuring. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Don’t say that. What if one day I have need of it? If I do ask you for anything?”

Hawke snorts and Anders pulls his hand away, frowning. “Oh, come on. What would you ask that would be so awful?” He stretches out, feet scrabbling at the silken sheets they’d just bought from a merchant who’d come to Hightown. The man had sworn they were from Orlais. Hawke yawns and sits up, pulling the coverlet around his waist. His grin is easy and laced with sleep, and he ruffles Anders hair with fond, familiar affection. Anders just looks at him, something dark bending his shoulders in and curving his spine, crippling him with unnatural weight. It isn’t how he looks when he is thinking about Justice. “All right,” Hawke says. He leans in close, breathing for a moment against Anders’ mouth, before he kisses him quickly and leans back against the headboard. “I’ll promise. Unless of course it’s that thing Isabela was talking about in the Hanged Man last night, because not even I’ll do that.”

That makes Anders smile and Hawke sinks down further, sliding himself down until he is laying flat, then he reaches up and folds his arms under the crown of his head. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet.”

Puggsley barks, still sore about losing his place on the bed, and Anders shoots him what he intends to be a discreet glare. “Then tell me,” Hawke says.

“Promise me… That if it ever comes down to it, if things ever go too far – if I can’t control this vengeance inside me anymore – that you’ll… do whatever you have to set things right.”

“What?” He sits up quickly, all traces of his good humor gone. “What are you saying? What will go too far, Anders? Why would I have to – “

“Just promise me,” he says, and suddenly he is not determined; suddenly he is desperate. “Things are getting to a boiling point and all of Kirkwall knows it. I will do what I must, what I have to do. But I don’t expect you to follow me that far.”

“Don’t say that,” Hawke says, and he puts his hand on Anders cheek. Anders turns away, his eyes closing as he grabs Hawke’s wrist. Though he isn’t much of a fighter, he is strong. His forearms have hard, tight muscle from years of spell-casting and spinning his staff, and Hawke watches their movement under the skin as Anders’ thumb moves across the sensitive inner part of his wrist. “Can’t I promise that I’ll never let Isabela borrow money? Or that I’ll shave off my beard?”

Anders laughs. “Don’t do that, I like your beard.”

Hawke moves his hand away from Anders and strokes his chin, looking off towards a looking glass hanging on the far wall. “I do look rather dashing, don’t I?”

“More than dashing,” Anders says, and suddenly his voice is warm and dark. He moves closer and their thighs are pushed together, and Anders leans his forehead down on Hawke’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around him, tight, fingers digging into flesh. He is murmuring something into the shoulder and for a moment Hawke doesn’t understand what he is saying. “I love you,” he says, his voice growing louder. “And I need you so much it scares me.”

“Look at me,” Hawke says, and he grabs Anders’ neck and pulls his head up, then pushes their foreheads together. He flicks the stubby ponytail Anders wears with his thumb as his hand slides up.

“Yes,” Ander says.

“Nothing will happen to me. And I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I need you. I need you here, with me.” He presses his lips to Ander’s forehead and the other man grips him tighter. “For always.”

“Always.”

Hawke’s breath is heavy and he pulls Anders’ hair and their noses bump together, a gesture both inciting and intimate. “Always.”

When they kiss, it is hard – unhesitant. They are both proud, they are both powerful - and there is fierce, mutual appreciation for this strength. Anders pulls away, his hands cupping Hawke’s face, and Hawke’s mouth follows his, nipping at hot, moist air between them.

“I have a dream sometimes,” Anders says. “And we’re here, in your bed, with the curtains drawn, asleep. Something wakes me, just before dawn. I know I shouldn’t, I know that it’s still dark and you’re still asleep, but I draw the curtains aside anyway and I step out of bed. There’s nothing but blinding, white emptiness. It’s not the Fade, it’s not anything. I look around, but you’re gone. I’m alone, completely; and I know it’s my fault. It’s my fault, because I left, because I opened up our world.”

Hawke sighs; he can feel the tension even in the throbbing tips of Ander’s fingers. Everything is spinning around them, and even though it is easier to put it out of mind, they can never forget. “You don’t have to leave,” he says.

“With him around… I am always halfway gone.” And Anders swallows, hard, and his eyes open slowly and Hawke wants to believe that they can be happy.

But justice is never happy.


End file.
